


Burn My Shadow

by Accidental_Ducky



Series: Emmett and Sarah [1]
Category: The Raven (2012)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Murder, Mystery, Protective Siblings, all the sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We lay beside each other afterwards, my head resting on his chest and his arms circled around me. For the first time since I entered Emmett's office a few days ago, I finally felt safe; I felt secure and loved, really loved, by someone other than my elder brother. "Are you alright?" I smile up at him, kissing his chest. </p><p>"I'm perfect."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_I have burned my tomorrows/And I stand inside today/At the edge of the future/And my dreams all fade away/I faced my destroyer/I was ambushed by a lie/And you judged me once for falling/This wounded heart will rise/And burn my shadow away/And burn my shadow away_

I fix my corset before turning to face Ivan, a kind smile on my face. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow," I promise him, planning to join my brother at the _Baltimore_ _Patriot_. Ivan nods, placing a kiss on my cheek and walking down the stairs. Ivan is a sweet man who came to see me daily, but he gave off this dark, unnerving presence sometimes and it was nothing like the slightly comforting one my elder brother gives off. Sighing, I brush out the knots in my dark brown hair and started down the stairs to find my next client. Yes, I, Sarah Elizabeth Poe, am a whore—it doesn't bother me much anymore.

I meet many people in my profession and that helped me keep the dark thoughts locked away—the same type of thoughts that made Edgar well-known in his writings. My brother and I are close and he hates the profession I've chosen, but mostly keeps such comments to himself. Speaking of Edgar, I'm surprised he's not here getting drunk yet. I make my way down the stairs and over to the bar, lounging on one of the stools after paying Raegan for a drink. Another thing Edgar and I have in common: we like to get drunk... _very_ drunk. The sailor next to me grins, wrapping a burly arm around my shoulders.

"What d'ya know, a woman after my own heart," he chuckles. I send him a flirtatious smirk.

"Am I now? How 'bout we bond over that upstairs, I happen to have an extremely comfortable bed that's mighty drafty with only one occupant." He starts to lean forward to kiss me, but jerks back in surprise when a man begins to shout about a free drink. The man is tall, thin, and dressed in black.

"A drink to the man who can finish this line: "Quoth the raven..." Well, now I know where my brother's at. As other men yell at him to piss off I stand with one hand on my hip and shout," Does it have to be a man to earn that drink?!" Edgar spins to face me, quirking one of his brows. Walking over, I wrap my arms around his neck in a hug and whisper," Nevermore." Unfortunately, this sends Edgar into one of his rants about everyone around us being "ignorant mouth-breathers that wouldn't know genius if it bit 'em on the ass." Kind of have to agree with him there. Two men drag poor Edgar out of the bar and throw him outside to endure the cold rainy night. I'll be hearing about _that_ tomorrow—and probably the one after that!

**-+-+-+-+-+The Next Day-+-+-+-+-+**

Edgar stands in the middle of the street, a hand held in front of him so the coach coming at us would stop. The driver, Percy, looks exasperated as he recognizes Edgar and I. "Not again, Mr. Poe." Edgar walks to one side of the coach, mumbling a good morning before climbing in. "Why do you let him do that," Percy asks, as I climb up to sit next to him, straightening his hat. Inside is one Emily Hamilton—the woman who has captured my dear brother's blackened heart.

"Oh, why shouldn't a man indulge himself in the simple pleasure of having a woman's father threaten to kill him," I quip with a smirk on my pale face. Percy shakes his head, not finding the humor in my sentence. "Come now, Percy, do show a little emotion now and again—I hear women love that sort of thing." he scowls down at me. "No, dear, I meant something like a smile." Before Percy's urge of smacking me is enforced I hop down, my brother steadying me as he rushes out of the coach before Charles Hamilton could shoot him. Percy flicks the reigns and the coach starts down the street, a spray of water coating my dress and Edgar's pants from the knees down.

"Another abject humiliation," Edgar frowns, eyebrows drawn together. "Come on, little sister, don't want to make Henry wait for too long, he might begin to think and that's never good." Laughing, I loop my arm through my brother's and we continue to the _Patriot_. "Good morning," he calls out as we enter the business, taking his gloves off. Ivan sends me a smile as we walk over to him, handing Edgar a bottle of Brandy.

"I'm afraid you might need more than this, Mr. Poe."

"What has that idiot done now," I groan, knowing Edgar would probably throw a fit soon. Ivan hands Edgar a paper and I look over his shoulder to see it. "He didn't touch the review, did he?" Henry was good about doing that and it made me want to beat the man till he was bloody.

"I told him not to touch it," Ivan swears, looking a bit sad. He loves to read my brother's writing and it's often one of the things we'd talk about when he came to see me.

"Where is it," Edgar asks, leafing through the paper, growing more and more furious. "Where is it? What has that urchin done?"

"H-he said there was no more room in the layout." Oh boy, this isn't going to be good.

"Pray tell, what fine twat did he deem more worthy?" His dark eyes widen as he finds the correct page. Please, Lord, don't let it be Longfellow. "LONGFELLOW!" Edgar storms into Henry's office, ranting the entire way. Ivan and I share a look, mouthing _there he goes_. Just another day at the _Baltimore Patriot_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wake me up inside/call my name and save me from the dark/bid my blood to run/before I come undone/save me from the nothing I've become/Bring me to life_

I give my brother a hug and pat Carl, Edgar's raccoon, before walking towards the front door. "Good night," I call over my shoulder with a smile. As I open the door I nearly run into the blonde beauty, Emily. "Hello," I smile, giving the woman a hug.

"You're not staying," she asks, brow furrowing. She didn't like the profession I was in and often expressed such worry.

"I have a room over at the tavern and a...guest waiting for me." She sighs, giving me another hug before walking to my brother's study. She's a sweet woman, a year younger than me—she's been so good for Edgar. He's not as depressed as he was when Virginia died.

**+-+-+-+-+-Thirty Minutes Later -+-+-+-+-+**

I enter the tavern, glad that it's mostly emptied out so that I can get up to my room without much hassle. Reagan waves me over to the bar, handing me a snifter of brandy. "Ye got your usual upstairs waitin' for you." Downing the liquid, I nod my thanks and head up to my room where I knew Ivan would be patiently waiting; probably reading one of my brother's tales. I'm greeted by a large grin as I step into my room, lit only by the two oil lamps I own.

"I was beginning to worry," Ivan says softly, standing up and holding his arms open. "No one's safe out on the streets at night." I grimace slightly as he says this, dark thoughts trying to creep past the barrier I've built. I'm pulled into a tight embrace, Ivan kissing the top of my head. "Has your brother written anything else; another story or poem?" I shrug, sitting on my bed and gesturing for him to join me.

"He's written a poem for a certain young lady that's managed to catch his eye," I answer, smiling as my friend's eyes light up with anticipation. "I take it you want to hear it?"

"Of course, Miss Poe, your brother is a genius when it comes to writing!"

"It was many and many a year ago,  
In a kingdom by the sea,  
That a maiden there lived whom you may know  
By the name of Annabel Lee;—  
And this maiden she lived with no other thought  
Than to love and be loved be me.

She was a child and I was a child,  
In this kingdom by the sea,  
But we loved with a love that was more than love—  
I and my Annabel Lee—  
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven  
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,  
In this kingdom by the sea,  
A wind blew out of a cloud by night  
Chilling my Annabel Lee;  
So that her high-born kinsmen came  
And bore her away from me,  
To shut her up in a sepulcher  
In this kingdom by the sea."

I recite the poem softly, a small smile on my lips. Edgar was always good with words and I loved to read his poems. Ivan looks awed, one of his arms wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me closer to him, allowing me to lay my head on his shoulder. "It's beautiful," he whispers, looking down at me with tear-filled eyes. He was an emotional person and had no problem expressing himself. "I-it reminds me of you—the description of her beauty, I mean." Blushing, I look away from the man. I've known him for five years and he seems to love giving me compliments even though it made me feel awkward.

"Ivan," I laugh, tracing the swirling patterns on my quilt. He chuckles, using one finger to turn my face to meet his—pressing his lips against mine softly. Unlike my other regulars, Ivan didn't come just to have sex, he came because he knew I needed a friend. "Are you staying the night?" He nods slowly, playing with a lock of my dark hair. "Help me with my corset." He undoes the stays, gladly helping me out of the annoying garment. Taking a deep, needed breath, I remove my skirt and top—pulling on a sheer, white chemise to sleep in.

"Come here," he whispers, eyes showing the love he feels for everyone and everything. I lay next to him, looking out the window across the room.

"'Twas noontide of summer, and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale through the night," I whisper softly to no one before falling asleep. Edgar would tell me that line when I stayed at his house for the night—even if it was nowhere near summertime.

I smile up at Theodore as we make our way home from the theatre, hazel eyes showing the love I have for him. Being so tall and broad-shouldered, Theodore intimidated most people, but I only ever felt safe around him—it's a bonus that he and my brother get along so well. The night was clear and snow coated the streets, stars shining brightly above our heads. Everything that once seemed so perfect moments before disappears when the shadow of a man steps in front of us, his knife dripping red.

I wake with a start, breathing coming in panicked gasps. I haven't had that particular nightmare in years and I wonder what triggered it now? Ivan lets out a long breath, wrapping and arm around my waist and pulling my back flush against his front. I need comfort, and the alcohol is too far away so Ivan will have to do. Turning, I give his lips a soft, but long, kiss—beginning to feel him respond.

"What a pleasant way to begin the morning," he mumbles against my neck, kissing his way down to my shoulder. I quickly do away with my chemise, giving him access to my breasts. He takes full avenge of this, one hard peak disappearing between his lips as one of his hand begins to knead the other. I moan, arching into his touch, fingers tangling in his short hair.

Suddenly the door to my room is kicked in, allowing several of the Baltimore P.D. to file inside after a detective. I pull my quilt up to cover myself, beginning to blush. "I'm sorry, sir," I say to the man who looks to be in charge," but I'm a little busy here and you'll have to wait your turn like all the others."

"Are you Sarah Poe?" The man keeps his gaze averted, lips twitching slightly in disapproval, "The sister of Edgar Allan Poe?" A feeling of unease washes through me at his question, making me shift uncomfortably in my small bed.

"Yes…"

"I need you to accompany back to the police station as soon as you are dressed properly." God, please tell me Edgar is alive—I couldn't handle another man I love dying, I just couldn't! I nod, telling him I'd meet his downstairs. As the men file out again I ask Ivan to help me with my blasted corset, knowing it was going to be a long day.

"Do you want me to come with you," he asks worriedly as we walk down the creaking stairs to the main part of the tavern.

"No, Ivan, I'll come see you as soon as I can to tell you why they bothered us, I promise." He nods, looking over at the man I spoke to earlier.

"Miss," the man, I assume he's a detective by the way his nice clothing, offers me his hand to help me into a coach. "My name is Detective Fields and I will be the one to question you at the station while we wait for your brother." Dammit, Edgar, what the hell did you do this time?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**"'Twas noontide of summer, and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale through the night" is from the poem Evening Star by Edgar Allan Poe.**


	3. Chapter 3

_The truth is hiding in your eyes/And its hanging on your tongue/Just boiling in my blood/But you think that I can't see/What kind of man that you are/If you're a man at all/Well I will figure this one out/On my own/I'm screaming "I love you so"/On my own/My thoughts you can't decode_

"Well, now you know in explicit detail as of my whereabouts last night," I tell Detective Fields with a cold fire burning in my dark eyes—enraged that he had the gall to ask me if I had a part in the murders of a mother and daughter. The Detective lowers his eyes, cheeks tinted red with embarrassment. Sighing, I cross my arms and lean back in the uncomfortable chair he has me sitting in.

"I'll have one of my men escort you back to your room."

"No, I'll stay and wait for my brother." Fields' eyes lock with mine now, giving me a look that would make lesser people cower with fear, but I have grown used to such looks. I'm struck by how they seem to sparkle in the light, a strange mix of colors that changed from hazel to light brown. "I'd like to see you proven wrong once again—your expressions are truly priceless, Detective." I give him a small, charming smile that normally helps me to get clients. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat as I adjust once more, a bit of my cleavage showing. That was nothing new; all of my dresses were cut to show at least a little cleavage. "You know, Detective, you never told me your name."

"I believe I have, Miss Poe." He looks down at some of the papers covering his desk, missing the annoyed glare I shoot him. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to your room?" I ignore his question, just as stubborn as my elder brother and then some.

"No, I believe I have your job and you surname, not the name your friends address you as." He raises an eyebrow, eyes finally meeting mine again, though only for a split second. "Come on, Detective, surely it won't hurt anything. It's not as if by telling me your first name you are breaking the law." I lean forward, elbows on his desk and my head supported by my hands.

"Emmett." Emmett—the name suits him. I notice his eyes flitting around the room, trying to look anywhere but at me, cheeks still a light red. I watch him intently for a few minutes more before I rise from the chair and begin to walk around his office, admiring his literature collection. "Miss Poe—"

"Sarah," I interrupt," call me Sarah." I give him a small smile, perching on the edge of his desk. "And as a _friend_ I'm sure you wouldn't mind paying me what I was cheated out of when you and your men came bursting into my room like you had a right." He gulps; I had slowly leaned forward as I was speaking and now my face was a mere hair's breadth from his. "Now, Emmett, there are two ways you can repay me, both sound like fine ideas to me." The door opens suddenly, revealing Edgar and Cantrell. I wink at Emmett before I hop down and walk to the front of his desk.

"What's going on," my brother asks, pulling me over to him. Emmett doesn't answer him, choosing instead to look down at the magnet in his hands and a strand of hair.

"Why would hair be attracted to a magnet?" I purse my lips, wondering when he's gonna get down to the real questions he wants answered. My brother looks confused and frustrated now—most likely mad that his poetry class had been interrupted by cops. I wonder if he has read about the murders yet.

"Excuse me?"

"Soot is merely carbon residue from coal and wood." Is he seriously making my brother wait when _he_ was the one so impatient to get answers; answers I told Emmett that my brother had idea about? What a pompous ass.

Edgar sighs, shifting from one foot to the other and I step forward, growing tired of the detective's stalling tactic. "Is my brother under arrest or not, Detective Fields?" A hard edge has entered my voice, meaning the detective had better get things going before I do something I would surely regret later. "Because if he's not then surely we can get out of your hair and you can get one with your business."

Fields gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "I am Detective Fields, have a seat, Mister Poe." My brother ignores the gesture, remaining on his feet in case he feels he needs to run.

"Yes," he says sarcastically," the infamous Detective Fields. Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet," Fields answers, finally putting the damn magnet down on his desk. "I'm a reader of your work." I roll my eyes, arms crossed over my chest. This routine was getting very tiresome very quickly.

"I admit, many of my admirers have gone to great lengths to meet me—"Emmett holds up a hand to stop Edgar's talking, shaking his head with an amused look in his hazel eyes. Edgar looks annoyed at having been interrupted but closes his mouth and sends me a look that speaks volumes of how quickly his temper has risen.

"Oh, I didn't say I was an admirer."

"Yet you read them." Emmett lets out a brief chuckle, placing one of my brother's books he'd picked up earlier back on his desk in precisely the same spot he'd picked it up from. Emmett Fields is a man of order; every place has a thing and everything is in its place and all that. Is it so bad to be a little disorganized?

"The night before last, a young girl and her mother were found murdered." And thus the real interrogation begins. "The daughter's body was found lodged in a chimney, the mother's head was nearly severed with a straight razor. The killer eluded capture through a window in which a lock was feigned with a nail sawed in half. Does anything sound familiar, Mister Poe?" He has a self-satisfied smirk on his face that I would just love to wipe off, but my brother raised me better than that…besides, I wouldn't get far before a whole squad of Baltimore's finest were hauling me back in.

"Of course, you're talking about my story." Edgar sounds confused; obviously he hasn't read the paper. "It's merely a work of fiction." Cantrell hands Edgar the morning newspaper—the headline reading: " _Grisly Double Murder!"_ in big, bold letters.

"I'm afraid I'm not." Edgar has grown pale and so I help him into a chair, sitting in the one beside him so that I can hold his hand. _Real_ murders still got to me, especially ones that were done with a knife-like object. "According to various witnesses, you and your sister were seen drunk two nights ago in a tavern near the harbor." He stands up, walking around the desk and straightening his vest. "Obviously Sarah couldn't have done it, so what time did you leave?"

Edgar blinks, seeming to be in slight shock. "I—I don't remember." He brings out a flask. "My, uh, leaving was involuntary." He takes a long swig from the flask before addressing Fields once again. "Do you honestly think I could murder these people?"

"Of course he doesn't," I assure Edgar, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze while sending Emmett my best glare. Cantrell notices the glare and tugs at the collar of his shirt, growing uncomfortable.

"May I see your hand?" Edgar holds up both, but Fields only inspects one, looking away in disappointment when he was finished. "Perhaps with the aid of accomplices, such a scenario might be conceivable—"

"Except for the simple fact my brother didn't do it and you damn well know he didn't," I say loudly, rising from the chair with my hands on my hips. Emmett sighs, nodding in agreement sitting behind his desk again.

"Yes, but what cannot be disputed is the fact that your brother's imagination is the inspiration of this horrendous crime."

"So because some brainless Neanderthal decided to use one of my brother's stories as the basis of some crime that means my brother has to pay for it, is _that_ what you are hinting at, _Detective Fields_?" Emmett's retort is cut off by someone knocking on his office door.

"Come." The door opens and an elder, plump officer walks in.

"Detective, can I have a word," he asks, breathing hard. Emmett nods, waving him forwards. Whatever he's told makes the Detective look up sharply at my brother and I, eyes narrowed and brow creased in suspicion and doubt. Oh boy, what happened now?

**This seemed as good a spot as any to stop this chapter; the lyrics at the top are from the song Decode by Paramore.**


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm not gonna live forever/Said I'm not gonna live forever/Gotta make it now or never/forever or never/I don't believe in fairytales/Too cynical/Everybody stop and stare/I let it go/I-I-I told you/I-I-I need to/Stick - stick - stick out/I just can't be like you_

Detective Fields leads Edgar and I into a spacious room, sending me worried glances every now and then. "I know this may come as a shock to you both, but we are in dire need of your unwholesome expertise," Fields tells us as we stop in the doorway to another room. In front of us is a simple table holding what I presume is a body covered in a white sheet and above that is a rather large blade set on a pendulum, on the floor is a smaller object also covered in by sheet. With a sigh, Edgar and I begin to walk forward, me gripping my elder brother's arm tightly. The room reeked of death and brought back unpleasant memories.

"I hadn't imagined the counter weight to be so large," Edgar says softly, looking up at the gears that made the device work. He makes me let go of his arm so that he could wrap it around my shoulders, helping to support my shaking body. Emmett steps up beside us, urging Edgar and myself forward towards the table.

"We have reason to believe you knew the victim." I send Emmett a curious look, taking the handkerchief he offered me with a small frown. "If you would." The sheet covering the smaller object is lifted to reveal the head of a man—his face frozen in an expression of absolute terror and agonizing pain. I use the handkerchief to cover my mouth and turn away from the grisly sight, my shaking only intensifying.

"I—I don't believe I knew him," Edgar says softly, pulling me over to him and letting me bury my face in the crook of his neck.

"Perhaps this will jar your memory." I hear paper rustling before Emmett begins to speak again. "Never has the perfunctoriness of plot been so mechanized and twisted by soulless contrivance—" I turn my head a little to look at Fields, my face paler than normal.

"Griswold," I say, fighting back nausea. "I burned that paper the day I read it." Edgar's grip on me tightens, one of his rubbing soothing circles on my back to help me calm down a little. "Neither of us could stand that man, but we would never wish death on him."

"We traded barbs,' Edgar adds, "As in words, not actual weapons of any sort. As writers are wont to do to sell a few newspapers or gain a little favor." I bit my lip, moving the handkerchief to cover my nose—trying to block out the disgusting smell. The story this crime was based on is one I never read, I couldn't handle it so soon after Theodore's murder.

" _The Pit and the Pendulum_ , when was it published?"

"'42, Tales of Ratiocination," Edgar answers immediately. I focus on taking deep breaths, knowing I'd be embarrassed if I fainted in front of so many people. I made my breaths match Edgar's, slowly beginning to calm down enough to move away from my brother and stand by myself without the fear of collapsing. Despite all that, Edgar still holds my hand for support.

"Are there other stories in that collection?" My brother lets out a shaky breath, looking around us-anywhere but at the body.

"Oh yes," I answer for him, nodding my head.

"Specifically about murder?" Edgar and I share a look before returning our eyes to the Detective.

"I'm afraid so," we answer in unison, as close siblings tend to do. Emmett lets out a deep sigh as if to say _of course there is, why wouldn't there be?_

"As unfortunate as it is, you, Mister Poe, may be uniquely qualified to cast light on our killer. There is a logic underlying these deaths—"

"Murders do not follow logic," I interrupt, beginning to grow angry that whoever did this is obviously targeting my brother. "There is no sort of logic here, only death and destruction and you would see that if you could pull you fat head out of your ass!" I throw Emmett's handkerchief at him and storm out of the building, climbing into the coach that carried Emmett, Edgar, Cantrell, and I here. Whoever did this is sick and would stop at nothing until he has reached his goal.

* * *

I stand behind a curtain with Edgar as he watched Emily play the piano for a small group of people. I smile as I listen to the notes, remembering when I first learned to play—aching to play once more. Maybe when I got to Edgar's house tonight I could. Charles Hamilton should be proud of the wonderful daughter he has raised, she was a good friend of mine and I would be happy to call her my sister one day. As the songs ends, Edgar and I walk into the room towards Emmett and Charles, who does not look very pleased to see us.

"Hello, Captain," Edgar greets," just wanted to prove how easy it was to penetrate the breech; I presume the police are here to keep my sister and me out." Edgar looks smug as we share a smile, head held high. What he didn't know was that Charles didn't mind me being here as he knew that Emily was teaching me to sew and I paid her for it.

"Mister Fields, I can assure you that if Mister Poe is a part of your investigation—" Charles is cut off by Emmett, who looks too stressed for his own good—giving Edgar and me frustrated looks.

"Mister Poe has a unique perspective on certain aspects of this crime and his sister could possibly be in danger because of how close she and her brother are." I look down at the ground, tugging at a loose string on the sleeve of my dress.

"Oh, so the killer is a raving alcoholic, an Opium addict, or an atheist?" I cross my arms, sending Emily a look that speaks volumes of what I'm tempted to do if she doesn't get her father under control. Emily has seen me knock a man on his back for looking at her the wrong way and knows I won't hesitate to do the same to her father for insulting my brother in such a manner.

"Father," she says, approaching us from across the room. "I've decided to change my costume for the ball tomorrow night." The blonde sends me a wink to show she got my message.

"No," Charles shakes his head, looking at Emmett once more," Mister Fields, I'm happy to indulge your request for the additional security, but I warn you, if I see this man there tomorrow night you will have to protect him from me." Emmett sends Edgar and I stern looks to see if we understood.

"Why do we need more security?"

Edgar gives her a sheepish look. "It, uh, appears my writing has become the inspiration to an actual killer; quite gruesome, really." He shifts uncomfortably at the look Charles sends his way. "If I would have known my work could have had such a morbid effect on people, I would have devoted more time to eroticism." I cover my mouth with my hand, muffling the laugh that escapes.

"As I said," Emmett says, gripping my arm," we were just leaving." Emmett pulls me after him so he could speak to me without being overheard. "Can you not control your brother or do you find the effect of his words amusing."

"I'm gonna have to go with the second one, Emmett."

"At least do your best to keep him away from the ball tomorrow, I don't need Mister Hamilton shooting him." Laughing, I make him stop and face me while we were hidden by a drape.

"That will be extremely hard for me to do, because, you see, I have been invited to the ball and am expected to keep Emily company for a while," I explain with a smirk. "Though, I could always keep you _company_ instead." His cheeks turn a light shade of red again, looking away from me. "Don't pretend you wouldn't enjoy yourself, Detective Fields." I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to walk towards the doors, making sure to sway my hips seductively.

**The song lyrics are from Forever or Never by Cinema Bizarre.**


	5. Chapter 5

_If you want me to listen whisper/If you want me to run just walk/Wrap your name in lace and leather/I can hear you/You don't need to talk/Let us make thousand mistakes/Cause we will never learn_

Smiling, I listen to Edgar's planned speech he's going to give to Charles tomorrow at the ball, informing the Captain and his and Emily's betrothal. My brother ends the speech, his cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath. "What do you think?" I tap my chin with my index finger, the very tip of my tongue sticking out slightly as I think about what I could tell my brother.

"Hmm, well, you might want to make it shorter so that when he tries to kill you, you won't be too out of breath to run," I point out with a laugh, walking to the room that serves as mine while I am staying in Edgar's house until the killer has been captured. Edgar follows behind me, holding his parchment tightly as he reads over it again, mumbling about cutting out a few drawn-out phrases. "Have you decided on an outfit yet? Oh, have you gotten a mask?" He chuckles at my enthusiasm, nodding his head to both of my questions.

"It appears my sister is actually excited to go to a ball," he says with mock incredulity," I do believe my heart has stopped from the shock of it." Scowling, I hit his arm lightly, fighting to keep a smile from appearing. It's true, I usually cannot stand the thought of dressing up, but tomorrow is actually going to be exciting, not to mention the fact that I can pester Detective Fields some more. He really is a good looking man; I'm surprised he's not yet married with a child. "Actually, it makes me wonder...are you excited because a certain Detective that you are attracted to will be there?" A light blush colors my cheeks as I hide my head in my wardrobe, filled with dresses and a couple of pairs of shoes.

"I have no idea what you mean, Edgar." I wince as his name escapes my lips; that was his way to know I am lying. I usually only ever called him brother just as he calls me little sister—we had no other nicknames for each other than to state the obvious. "I only like to mess with him, it's nothing serious." He sits on the edge of my bed, looking at me in sympathy in his dark brown eyes.

"But you want it to be serious." I'm glad he cannot see my face as it contorts into one of pain, tears threatening to fall. "You deserve an honorable man like Fields; you've not been close to another man after what happened to Theodore—"

"Stop." Edgar closes his mouth, hearing my voice break and undoubtedly noticing the way my shoulders are shaking. "I have not gotten close to another for the simple reason that I do not want to; Theodore was the man I love and I will not give that love to another man." Edgar sighs, shifting on my bed to get more comfortable.

"We both know that if he could, he would scold you for being so stubborn; he'd come up with some long speech that would make the one I just wrote seem as if it were written by a child." I smile at that very true fact. Theodore would be furious to know what I have done since his passing. I jump when Edgar lays a hand on my shoulder, not having heard him move from my bed. "Now, you need to pick out a dress to where tomorrow, dear sister, for the Detective's gaze _must_ be drawn to you so he can see just how beautiful you really are." He gives my shoulder one last squeeze before retiring to his room down the hall. Edgar only said I was beautiful because I am his sister, I'm sure the Detective doesn't think of me that way—he probably only thinks of me as a whore.

I sit on my bed, picking up the mask I planned on wearing tomorrow-it was black with golden designs swirling everywhere on it. Ivan had given it to me last year on my birthday. Such a sweet man, Ivan; nicer than most men I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. As I fall asleep that night I am no longer plauged by nightmares, but by dreams of one Detective Emmett Fields.

**The song lyrics are from My obsession by Cinema Bizarre; my new favorite band.**


	6. Chapter 6

_You're my obsession/My fetish, my religion/My confusion, my confession/The one I want tonight/You are my obsession/The question and conclusion/You are, you are, you are/My fetish you are_

As Sarah was dreaming, Detective Fields was trying to focus on planning how to have his men be discreet for tomorrow night's ball. Unfortunately, he was thinking things that ashamed him; he was thinking of Sarah Poe and of all the innuendos she'd sent his way. In only one day the woman had wormed her way into his thoughts, making him want her in a way that made him, Emmett Alexander Fields, blush—something that was actually hard to do, believe it or not. That woman had worked some type of magic on him; that has to be the cause, after all, he'd only thought about one other woman in such a scandalous way before.

She is a whore, enticing men is what she did for a living; at least, that's what he tried to remind himself of when his thoughts began to wonder down paths they shouldn't. He wondered if she thought of herself as nothing more than a whore. No, she was too intelligent to do that. How did she end up in that life anyway; her brother obviously cared very much for her and would gladly let her live in his home until she could find a suitable husband. Had she ever even been proposed to? A knock on his office door interrupts his thoughts that were attempting to stray even further. "Enter," he calls out, voice sounding too loud in the quiet.

John Cantrell, one of Fields' closer friends, sticks his head into the room. "I am leaving for the night, sir."

"Alright, tell Mary hello for me." Cantrell nods, shutting the office door behind him as he leaves, wondering why his friend was staying so late. As Fields bends his head to write a few ideas down he doesn't notice a figure shrouded in black watching him through a window, a blade hidden from sight. Fields was too busy trying to stay awake that the figure could have easily snuck in and slit the man's throat in a second, but the Detective was a central piece to keeping the Poe siblings involved in his little game. The figure makes his way down the street as Fields looks up, the unnerving feeling of being watched becoming too much—but he sees nothing and so goes back to trying to keep his thoughts on track to no avail.

Sarah Poe wasn't what most would consider beautiful, she was certainly no Emily Hamilton, but the way she held herself and wasn't afraid to voice her thoughts drew him to her. She also has nice breasts, Fields admits, rubbing the back of his neck. A nice figure in general, but that did not give him free reign to think about her in such a way. In fact, he was certain that Sarah would hit him if she knew what kind of thoughts went through his head when she had whispered in his ear with that annoyingly entrancing voice of hers that afternoon. "She will be the death of me," he groans, giving up on his work. He wouldn't be able to do anything tonight without having to worry about where his thoughts would take him. He was sure that if he tried to sleep the little Minx would be waiting for him there in that low-cut dress of hers.

_It was just his luck that he had to be right. There was Sarah Poe, lying on his bed like it was her own with a beguiling smile on her light pink lips. He could feel himself walking to her, lying next to her, and kissing her lips with as much passion as he could muster. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him flush against her—her fingers tangling in his brown hair, massaging his scalp as their tongues move together. The bodice of her dress slides off, revealing her breasts to Emmett's hungry gaze and calloused hands. Sarah's warm flesh had a few scars here and there, but she was flawless in his eyes; as she arched against his hand he realized that._

_"Emmett," she moans, writhing beneath him—accidentally brushing against him._

Fields jumps, breathing heavily as he looks around him for the woman who haunted his dreams. But she was not there...it was only a vivid dream...he was alone still.

**The song lyrics are from My Obsession by Cinema Bizarre; my new favorite band.**


	7. Chapter 7

_I was betrayed/There is no open sore/I'm in too deep/I can't believe/Anymore/Will you take what's left of me/Reanimate my trust in fate/Angel in disguise/you save my soul/But you make my heart go blind/My devils rage inside/just can't let go/Cause it feels so right/You make my heart go blind_

Edgar helps me lace up the back of my dress, making a strange noise that seemed to be agreement and amusement. The dress was off the shoulder with short sleeves, which was made up of royal blue silk with black at the bottom and outlining the top of the dress—barely making it acceptable to be worn to a ball like the one I was attending tonight. "Well," I ask nervously," how do I look?" He turns me in a small circle, inspecting me with one hand rubbing his goatee.

"You look perfect; the Detective won't know what hit him...don't actually hit him, though, he probably would take offense to that." I laugh, giving my brother a hug and taking my mask from him. "Now, shall we go and entrance our loves?" I nod, following him out to the carriage waiting for us.

* * *

I walk through the crowds of dancing, chatting, and leering people to the one person I want to talk to. I've seen many of the men in attendance here at the tavern where they are no better than the sailors that often see me. Halfway to my intended destination I am forced to stop as a young, handsome man steps in front of me with a graceful bow, one hand held towards me. "Could I have this dance, Miss?"

"Sorry, I have better people to talk to," I smile, making my way past him and towards Detective Fields, who's wide eyes were focused on me. One could hardly blame him, my dress was lower than normal and so exposed a decent amount of cleavage. It made me feel power to be able to draw a man's gaze like that, power that is hard to come by for most women. "Hello, Emmett." He gulps, looking around the room.

"Miss Poe," he greets with a stiff nod, still not looking at me. I frown, placing a gloved hand on his arm and turning him to face me.

"I could swear that I told you to call me Sarah." Emmett continues not to meet my gaze, but now and then his eyes flick down to look at the pale skin that my dress revealed. "After all, we _are_ friends, aren't we, Emmett?" I wet my bottom lip, swiping my tongue across it slowly—his eyes following it. He flounders for a moment, trying to find words before looking away again, scanning the ballroom.

"It would hardly be proper." I scoff at that, arms crossed over my chest.

"Do I look like the kind of woman who gives a damn about propriety?" He doesn't answer me, eyes looking anywhere but at me. I trace a finger along his jaw as I walk away, calling to him over my shoulder," Perhaps I'll see you later." My hazel eyes glinting with mischief, I tap on another man's shoulder. It was the same young man from earlier. "How about we dance, my friend is a little busy." He smiles, expertly twirling me around the dance floor.

"I don't think I caught your name," he says, lips close to my ear so that I can hear him over the music.

"That's because I never gave it to you," I retort with a smile. "I find names and titles don't mean much at night." His eyebrows shoot upwards as he realizes the meaning of my words, pulling me closer to him. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Yes, indeed." The sounds of shattering glass makes me jump, stumbling backwards a little. Before I have time to react, Fields has tackled me to the ground so that the horse that had come charging in wouldn't trample me. The horse's rider lay on the ground, holding his shoulder where Charles had just shot him. The man I was dancing with helps me up as Fields points his pistol at the rider dressed as a skeleton.

"He said you'd ordered it," the rider gasps, holding up some folded parchment, which Charles snatches from him.

"He has my daughter," Charles says angrily. "Seal off the building!" My hands cover my mouth as I lean against the man I had been dancing with for support. The sick bastard has gotten an innocent man hurt and kidnapped my best friend all in one night; why was he doing this? Edgar quickly walks over to me, letting me hold on to him rather than the stranger.

"It'll be alright," he mutters in my ear," we'll get Emily back." His voice is emotionless, what happened not yet sinking in all the way. "I won't let anyone hurt you, my little sister." The last sound I hear before I fall, unconscious, to the ground is the sound of the clock ringing.

**+-+-+-+-+-The Next Day -+-+-+-+-+**

I sit next to my brother in Fields' office, surrounded by the Detective's men as Fields himself reads us the letter that the killer had delivered to us. "I challenge the brilliant detective mind of Edgar Allan Poe to a game of wits, with Emily's life in the balance. You will immortalize, for the exquisite pleasure of your readers, this, you own very descent into the maelstrom." I grip one of Edgar's hands tightly, knowing that both of us could use the comfort that the simple gesture provided. "Which shall appear in serial form in the _Baltimore Patriot_. Know that I will kill again and on that new corpse, I will leave you clues that will lead to Emily. If I do not read a vivid accounting of this convergence of fact and fiction, then dear Emily will die and I will take your sister next." Edgar's grip on my hand tightens. "Your only hope is to imagine a way to save her. I dare you to try to conceive of the painstaking care I have taken to secure her and the elegant means leading inexorably to her end. Are you up to the task, Mister Poe? Are you even capable of imagining the means to save your beloved's life, or shall this tale end as all your stories do? With madness, sin, and horror...the soul of the plot."

"Your men are right, I've killed her," Edgar states, rocking slightly in his chair.

"We must assume Miss Hamilton is still alive."

"Why, because it's more convenient to do so? Why am I to blame? Where were all these officers last night; where were you?! He _told_ you he was coming!" Edgar's voice breaks at the end, making it harder on myself to hold back tears. It was my fault that Fields couldn't get to Emily in time, if I would've just stayed by the buffet table he could've made it to my soon-to-be sister instead of worrying about knocking me out of a horse's way. I stand up, wrapping my arms around me as I look anywhere, but at Fields or my elder brother.

"Listen to me," Fields commands, forcing me to sit again," he will keep her alive for the simple reason of keeping you involved."

"Why should he; you read it yourself, if Emily dies he'll just come after Sarah!" Emmett winces as that, obviously hoping that my brother had missed that part of the letter. I know for sure that if the killer comes for me he's going to get a little surprise he won't walk away from. Charles Hamilton's booming voice is heard as he comes barging into the office, face a light shade of purple.

"Familiarize yourselves with my face, they'll be seeing it every hour until my daughter is returned to me!" He pushes his way past the officers and straight up to Fields, not having noticed Edgar or me yet.

"Mister Hamilton," Fields speaks calmly," I am very sorry—"

"You should be, she was taken under your watch!" His gaze moves over Fields shoulder, growing even more furious when he sees my brother. "Why the hell is _he_ here?!" Before Fields could stop him, Charles had punched my brother and I was tackling the large man to the ground, hitting him as hard as I could before I was pulled away, still struggling against Fields' strong hold on me.

"Don't you _dare_ blame my brother for this, you bastard," I hiss," if you would have listened and held off on the ball none of this would've happened!" Fields covers my hand, muffling the next round of obscenities that fly from my lips.

"Mister Poe here is our only connection to the man that has _your_ daughter, I suggest you remember that." His voice is filled with barely contained anger towards Charles as he continues to hold me back. Charles storms out of the office, shooting one last glare at Edgar and me, his right eye already beginning to swell from where I'd managed to get in one last punch. "Calm down," he whispers," I don't really want to arrest you for beating a man." With one last huff, I nod my head, signaling that he can let me go. "We will reconvene in two hours. Until then, I want every street in Baltimore manned, is that understood?" The officers all mumble a yes sir before they leave the room, shutting the door behind them.

 **The lyrics are from the song Angel in Disguise by Cinema Bizarre**.


	8. Chapter 8

_I set a course for winds of fortune,/But I hear the voices say/Carry on my wayward son/There'll be peace when you are done/Lay your weary head to rest/Don't you cry no more_

I lean against the doorway of a classroom as the others inspect the latest victim. "She could be a prostitute, the way she's painted up," Cantrell points out, looking down at the body that's lying on a metal examination table. I roll my eyes at his observation, not taking in offense to it, but annoyed that it was the first thing that popped into his head.

"Contrary to popular belief, Cantrell," I say in a bored tone," not all of us whores like to wear makeup." The man blushes, eyes dropping from my face back to the body. He is a good man, one of the few who do not judge me, though I think he's afraid to have a real conversation with me because he believes his wife would somehow find out and beat him with a broom. I join the men around the table, looking down at the woman's corpse; her eyelids had dark blue shadow on them and her lips were a dark red, almost matching the blood splattered all over her face and hands. "She doesn't work in Reagan's tavern."

Fields nods at me, examining the padlock that had been keeping the casket closed. "Did you open this?" The professor that called in the crime nods his head. "Were your hands clean?"

"Yes," the old man nods again. "I didn't leave that smudge, inspector."

"She must have fought him or scratched him," Cantrell says. Fields shakes his head, putting the padlock down and moving closer to the body. "I mean, the blood can't be hers since there is no blood on her wrists." Fields moves the woman's head to the side, revealing some rope.

"He came at her from behind." I look over at my brother, noticing the fearful gleam that has taken resident in his dark eyes since Emily was taken a couple of nights ago. Since then, he'd kept me even closer, sitting in a chair beside my bed at night with a bottle of brandy and a loaded pistol. "Another one of your stories?" Edgar doesn't answer him, looking to me instead.

" _The Mystery of Marie Roget_ ," I answer for him. Fields nods, returning his gaze to the body and cuts the rope that is tied around her neck.

"A bowline knot," my brother informs them," just as it was in the story. Fields looks up, nodding his head for Edgar to continue explaining. "She was a girl..." he trails off, trying not to break down."...who worked near the stores in Paris, near the quay; she drowned, but there was no mention of blood on her hands...that detail was added." Fields looks down at his pocket watch.

"You must write down every detail, we have no time to lose."

* * *

Fields approaches the Poe's home, about to knock when a woman's muffled screams reaches his ears. He opens the door and rushes in the direction they're coming from, fearing the worst. He knew they belonged to Sarah and he hoped to God that the killer hadn't broken in and attacked her. He kicks in a door, finding Sarah lying in bed, her face ashen as she lets out cries of pain. He wastes no time in shaking the young woman awake, catching her wrist in time to keep her from striking him. "Sarah," he whispers, brushing some of her dark hair off her face. "Sarah, it's me, it's Emmett." Slowly she calms down, letting him pull her closer to him; her head rested on his chest, her breathing coming out in short gasps as the fear dissipates. "Calm down, you're safe now."

She looks up at Fields, tears still in her eyes. "His name was Theodore," she tells him softly, shaking a little and snuggling closer to him. "We were engaged and he wanted to take me to see a play. On the way back this...this man dressed in all black came out of nowhere and slit h-his throat; there was blood everywhere." She lets out a strangled sob, gripping his vest tightly in her small fists. "The man pushed me against a brick wall and held me there by my throat until I passed out; when I woke up I was in the hospital and Theodore was dead." Fields looks down at her with sorrow-filled eyes. "Hand me my laudanum, it'll help me sleep without seeing the images." He does as she asks, staying with her until she's sound asleep. When he reaches the doorway he looks back at her one last time, noticing the way all the worries disappear, her face taking on a more peaceful expression.

Edgar doesn't notice Fields knocking on his open office door, becoming lost in the world of fiction as he does as the killer wants; anything to keep Emily alive and his little sister safe from that monster. He jumps as Fields voice echoes in the room, placing his pen on his desk and looking up at the other man—the first man to catch his sister's eye since Theodore's murder. "I'm sorry to disturb you," Fields begins as Edgar stands up," I was a little concerned about your..."

"My progress?"

"Yes." Edgar looks down at the paper he had been writing on, flexing his hand to make the cramps vanish before he had to start again.

"I feel as though I've gone from author to character in one of my tales," he admits, meeting Fields worried, but understanding gaze. "I'm as trapped and bedeviled as any of the hapless bastards I ever created." Fields nods, walking over to look at a painting hanging on the wall as Edgar sits back down in the uncomfortable office chair his sister had scrounged up for him last year on Christmas. "Regardless of what you think of me, Fields, I am a master of my art...and I will not fail, ever." To be honest, Edgar just needed to hear confirmation of that statement from someone other than Sarah, whom had endless faith in her elder brother's abilities as a writer.

"I know that," Fields nods, sensing the other man's doubts. There's a short pause in which the only things heard is the ticking of the clock and the rustling of paper. "Look, I, uh, I think I was overly harsh with you the other day and, for that, I would like to apologize." Edgar gives him a long look, trying to find any dishonesty in the statement, but finding none. It comforted him that not everyone was a liar in this cruel world.

"My wife was singing at the piano when she first coughed up blood." It seems that tonight, the Poe siblings simply needed to get terrible memories off their chests, fields muses silently to himself as he listens to Edgar's heart wrenching tale. "I prepared myself for the worst, but Virginia seemed to recover; and, foolishly, I succumbed to hope. But by year's end, the blood came again and again—great effusions of blood, raging fevers, her sheets spattered with crimson, drenched with sweat. I made sure Sarah was nowhere near this house while it happened. I often though I could hear the sound of darkness as it stole across the horizon, rushing towards me. But here I..." He pauses for a moment, blinking back a few tears. "I was overwhelmed by a sorrow so poignant; when she finally died, I felt a great release, but it was soon replaced with that dark and morbid melancholy that has followed my sister and I like a black dog all our lives. Until I met Emily and Sarah met you." Fields looks down at the ground before meeting Edgar's dark eyes once more. "do you think Emily's still alive?"

"I'm sure of it," he nods.

**+-+-+-+-+-The Next Morning -+-+-+-+-+**

I groan, attempting to ignore the person who's foolish enough to wake me up. "Sarah, we have to go; we might know where the killer is going to be."

"Keep shaking that shoulder and I'll show you a killer, Emmett," I threaten, opening one eye to glare at the tall man. "Then again, we could always send your men to wherever you think the killer will be and _you_ could join _me_ in bed." I smile coyly up at him, well aware of the fact that one sleeve of my chemise is hanging off my shoulder. I can't help teasing Fields; he made it so easy even this early in the damn morning! Emmett ignores me, throwing me my robe and picking me up over his shoulder, carrying me down the stairs and to the carriage where my brother was waiting for us. "Would it be too much trouble for someone to tell me where we're going?"

"To the theater," Fields informs me," Cantrell is already there so the exits are secured." The theater? I instantly pale at the thought, having stayed away from them after what happened to Theodore. "The victim was still in her costume, which suggests she was abducted directly from the theater." Fields gives Edgar a pistol. "We'll find her."

"I would gladly give my life for hers, Mister Fields, just as I would for Sarah."

"I know you would." I notice that Edgar's eyes flick from the Detective to me several times as if urging the man to say more. "I'd happily do the same."

"What play is it," I ask breathlessly, pulling my robe on and tying the sash at my waist.

" _Macbeth_." Okay, I could handle _Macbeth_. The carriage comes to a halt and Emmett, Edgar, and I rush out and into the theater—adrenaline running through our systems. I follow closely behind my brother as we barge into the theater, up onto the stage and to the back where the riggings were. A man walks over to us, demanding to know why we were interrupting the play. "By order of the police department, I have a warrant to search these premises."

"Why, there's a show going on." Growing impatient, I grab the front of the man's shirt and press him against the wall.

"You'll let them do as they please, you flea-bitten mongrel, or angry patrons will not be the ones you have to worry about," I threaten in a low voice that had the man's eyes widening in sheer terror. "Believe me when I say that I've had a pretty bad week and would just _love_ to take it out on a piece of trash like yourself; now, get all your stagehands out here _this fuckin' instant_." Breathing heavily, I let go and watch as the man scrambles to do what I asked. I turn to look at the others; all but Edgar have shocked looks on their faces. "What, we needed to get things moving and obviously the ' _I'm a cop, do what I say'_ routine wasn't working."

"Have I told you how much I loved your temper today," Edgar asks with a wry smile.

* * *

A sailor spits in the space between him and Fields, a glare on his not too pleasant face. "Oh yes," I sneer," that's classy; I'm so shocked you're not yet married." He shoots me a look that usually means shut up and I send him one of my own. Emmett simply shrugs it off.

"Put out your hands." The old guy holds out both hands for inspection, looking smug when Emmett continues down the line. While Emmett's doing his interrogation, Edgar turns towards the stage manager—the guy I threatened earlier.

"Is this your entire crew," my brother inquires in a low voice. The man nods, looking uncertainly at me. "Are you sure?" Another nod. My brother pushes him towards the line of men. "Well, count them again."

"What are you doing," a beefy man with a thick accent asks Emmett. "You know, we got less than seven minutes before the act change." Emmett turns to face the man who spoke.

"Where are you from?"

"Liverpool," he answers proudly," got three days shore leave to make some extra scratch, so if you don't mind, please—" Emmett holds up the summery of _Macbeth_ , cutting the man off and demanding he read it aloud. He grabs the paper and throws it to the ground. "It's _Macbeth_ , I know the play."

"Someone's missing," the manager says once he's reached the end of the line, beginning to sweat when he sees my glare.

"Who?" We all face the nervous man.

"Maurice."

"Where is he?" The manager shakes his head.

"I don't know, but nobody's allowed to leave until the show is over." Heaving a sigh, I follow after Emmett. The two of us head beneath the stage, he holding a pistol and I a lit candle. We walking through the crowded area carefully, listening for any sound that was out of the ordinary, ignoring the sound of the play continuing upstairs. A clattering sound makes Emmett and I turn sharply, seeing a flash of clothing and following after it as silently as we can.

"Come out," Emmett demands in a whisper," show yourself." He hears another small noise and walks forward a few steps before turning again and pointing his pistol into a dark crevice that most grown men would find difficult to fit in. "I have a pistol aimed on you, come out now and put your hands where I can see them or I will fire." If what Emmett said was true, then the man we were looking for couldn't possibly fit in such a small space; hell, only a child—

"Emmett, no," I shout right as gunfire and panicked screams fill my ears. I wince, expecting to see blood coming from the small crevice but instead I hear the frightened voice of a child.

"Don't shoot me, I'm in the play." I drop to my knees, holding out my arms.

"Come here, sweetheart, nobody is going to hurt you." The small boy hurtles himself into my arms, letting out a terrified whimper as he looks up at Emmett. "If you didn't fire your gun, then who the hell did?"

"Stay here with him until I come back."

"The hell I will!" I wrap a dusty blanket around the child's shoulders, promising him that he was safe now before rushing after Emmett. I swear, the man has longer legs than I thought humanly possible! God, please let Edgar be okay!

Thankfully Edgar's just fine and our little trio makes out way to where the crew keep their things, looking for the locker that has an M on it. "Poe," Emmett calls, opening what I hope is the right one. on the top shelf of the locker is a small, wooden box, which Fields places on a table; opening it slowly, almost hesitantly. Inside it is what looks to be a piece of fish with a quill stuck in it.

"What is that? It looks like a piece of fish." Fields leans in closer, swallowing thickly.

"That...is a human tongue." I close my eyes for a moment. Of course it's a human tongue, why wouldn't it be? This day just keeps getting worse and worse. "What does it mean?" Edgar looks away, thinking for a moment before the answer seems to smack him in the face.

" _The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar_ —a man suspended between life and death by mesmerism. He's a living, conscious corpse who can only speak via the vibrations of his tongue. It's a bit of burlesque." Oh yes, I remember that one; it was one of my favorites actually. Cantrell runs up to us, looking slightly out of breath and in a hurry.

"Mister Poe, sir, there's been an accident."

**The lyrics are from the song Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas**


	9. Chapter 9

_I can't hear the sceneries/Of constant tragedies/Of what I meant to feel no more/'cause I'm already dead/And I just cannot bear/To hear another word no more/Love songs, they kill me/They kill me... Now/Love songs are killing me/Are killing me... Right now/Love songs are killing me/Are killing me... Right now_

I stare into the flames, not worried about the fact that every possession I own has burnt, but that Carl, the little Raccoon of Edgar's, could still be in there. Edgar stands beside me, lighting a cigarette. "A damnation on Earth; hell's brimstone is food, consumed from birth in solitude," Edgar recites in a soft voice, barely heard above the roar of the flames. Men work to put them out, but everything inside has done been destroyed beyond repair. As the flames have mostly died down, the man in charge walks over to us holding a cage covered in cloth.

"The windows were shattered first; I don't think it was an accident." _What was your first clue_ , I think bitterly, looking over at some of the people further down the street; already gossiping like it's any of their business. "Sir, Miss, we also found this." He hefts up the cage, a soft, familiar chittering coming from it. "I'd be happy to take it in if it's not yours."

"The hell you will," I tell him, taking the cage and beginning to walk. Edgar catches up quickly, taking the cage from me and holding my hand in his free one. "Do you think it was the killer who started the fire?" Edgar shrugs his shoulders, letting me lead him to our destination.

"I don't have that answer, little sister."

* * *

I give Emmett a grin when he opens his front door with a quizzical look on his face. "Mister Poe, Sarah." He has one hand behind his back, no doubt hiding the pistol he had brought with him.

"I'm afraid we've found ourselves without lodgings tonight," Edgar tells him, adjusting his grip on the cage Carl is resting in. I look down at the Raccoon, sticking my finger through the bars to stroke the fur on its head.

"Yes, I've heard."

I look back up at the man with a raised eyebrow. "Emmett," I say slowly, as if explaining things to a child. "Move out of the way or be moved because I'm losing feeling in my toes here." He finally gets the hint and moves aside to let me enter, but makes Edgar stop.

"Not the animal." Edgar holds up the cage so that Emmett can get a good look at the poor creature.

"Don't be silly, Emmett, Carl's a good boy and knows not to get into things that do not belong to him."

"I'm sure, but I think the porch is more suitable." I give the tall man a dark look, pushing past him and back outside where Edgar had placed the cage on the stone wall. "Miss Poe, what are you doing?" Edgar pats him on the shoulder, shaking his head. "Come inside, you could catch your death out in this cold."

"Oh, and Carl cannot? He's only a little Raccoon and if he can't go inside, then _I_ don't go inside." The Detective looks torn for a moment before picking up the cage and heading inside, placing it on a table in the sitting room.

"Fine, but he stays in the cage." That was fine with me as long as the poor thing didn't have to face the night outside. I pull my robe closer to me, shivering a little as Edgar and I follow Emmett to his study. The room seems organized for the most part except for his desk, which has papers scattered over every inch of it. This makes me feel smug that my earlier assessment of him being a man of order was correct.

"It appears to Baltimore I've become one of the very demons I conceived," Edgar tells Emmett, looking around the room and stopping in front of the fireplace where a small blaze is lit; warming the room. "The fire was intentional, did you know that?"

"Yes, the town is angry, the Mayor wants results." The last part is said in a perfect voice that sounds exactly like the Mayor.

"Another set of unsolved murders, inspector. Is that it?" Outside, the sky opens up and it begins to pour; the thunder and lightning battling each other for attention. Emmett gestures for us to take a seat; Edgar ignoring the offer and pacing the area in front of the desk and I perching myself on the corner of the desk closest to Emmett, seeing a blush slowly creeping up his neck. "He was inches away," Edgar says after a brief moment of silence, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "If I hadn't dropped my weapon..." I give him a sympathetic smile.

"We've made some headway; according to theater records, the sailor's name is Maurice Robichaux. Does that mean anything to you?"

"No," Edgar and I say in unison.

"Cantrell and I made some inquiries at the docks. Apparently, he was signed on to a trading vessel which made port five days ago and, like many sailors, he took employment in the theater, working the backstage riggings. As we know, he wasn't there today." Emmett leans back in his chair with a sigh.

"He knew we were coming," I say softly, looking down at my hands.

"Look, it may be arduous, but, uh, I've learned in order to find a needle in the haystack—"

"Burn the hay to the ground."

"No, you go through the hay." He picks up a few papers, scooting his chair forward so he is closer to the desk. "These ship's records, I think—"

"Ship's records," my brother asks in a deadpan voice, stopping his infuriating pacing. Emmett looks up and sees the incredulous expressions on Edgar's face, a near perfect replica of mine.

"Well, I must remind you both that every detail is important here."

"Tell me Emmett," Edgar starts," are you not _piqued_ by you abject failure to ferret out this assassin?" Oh boy, Edgar is ready to argue. Emmett lowers his head, looking down at the papers on his desk. "You reputation is at stake. Look at me." Emmett leans back again, meeting my brother's fiery gaze without fear, something I can admire if nothing else. "Four people are dead! An angel breaks on the rack of a depraved beast, my sister could possibly be his next target, but this _clerk_ squints over his glasses at ledgers and typing!" He throws papers to the ground in his frustration. "Is this a fucking joke, boy?!" Emmett stands up suddenly, his own anger matching that of my brother's.

"What else should we do?! Run around all of Baltimore screaming out her name?!" I hop up from my position now with a glare.

"Would both of you just calm the hell down," I shout, growing tired of the both of them by this point. "Screaming doesn't solve anything, you half-witted buffoons; it certainly isn't helping Emily! Now, both of you sit back down and, God help me, Edgar, keep pacing and I'll throw you out the window myself!" Both men give me surprised looks, Edgar seeming to be a little offended by my threat. I take several deep breaths to calm down, knowing that smacking them repeatedly would do us no good in the long run, though it would make me feel better right now. Emmett and Edgar face away from each other and I pinch the bridge of my nose in agitation. These two were like stubborn children sometimes.

"Now," Emmett says in a considerably calmer voice," think. Start with the sailor; have you ever written anything about a sailor?"

Edgar shakes his head, turning to face Emmett. "No. Did you speak with the ship captain?"

"I did; Robichaux is a valued crewman—well-liked, had a family back home."

"Where?"

"France…Nimes. Does that mean anything to either of you?" Edgar and I shake our heads despondently. Emmett lets out a frustrated sigh. "See, what I keep asking myself is why Baltimore? The _Fortunato_ had docked in several ports around the world." My head jerks up at the Ship's name, remembering the first time I head the tale of Fortunato; he was a man who pissed off the wrong person and got walled up alive.

"Did you just say Fortunato," I ask with new excitement.

"Yes, but—"

Edgar cuts him off," A thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could." Edgar and I share a giddy smile. Emmett looks confused so I explain what happens in the story and how Fortunato meets his demise.

"There are no catacombs in Baltimore."

"No, but there are tunnels underneath the city," Edgar points out.

* * *

With a group of men that Emmett had managed to assemble at such short notice, we gather down in the water works and go over our strategy. "You are looking for anything that would indicate recently laid masonry. We will be timing this; I will blow my whistle as such." Emmett's whistle lets out one long, shrill note, which echoes against the stone walls. "We will then shout her name in unison from all areas of the tunnels." Edgar gives an example of such.

"Wait ten seconds while you listen to see if you can hear something behind the walls," I interrupt, ready to get going. If ya find something, blow on your whistle and the rest of us will come to you, got it?" I get a few mumbled yes, ma'am's. "Then get goin'." I follow after Emmett, now dressed in a loose shirt and trousers that were tucked into a pair of knee-length boots.

"You are a very impatient woman, do you know that," he asks me quietly while observing the tunnel we're in. I let out a breathy chuckle, leaning against him slightly so that I do not slip and fall into the ankle deep water.

"Funny, I could say the same about you." He gives me an amused look before raising the whistle to his lips. I cover my ears to muffle the noise. "EMILY!" The shouts of our merry band echo throughout the tunnels and to my ears, and, for ten seconds, it's the only noise I hear. I scowl, gripping Emmett's arm as we continue on our way. A whistle begins to sound repeatedly, Emmett and I rushing as quickly as we can to find the source.

When we reach the spot I see Cantrell going at the wall with a pick axe; he stops at Emmett's and my arrival. "The mortar's a different color," he says breathlessly, pointing at the wall. Emmett hands me the lantern he was carrying, takes the pick axe, and begins to hit the wall after making sure I was far enough away that I wouldn't get hit by any flying pieces. My brother appears as some of the brick gives away, revealing a gaping hole in the wall for us to look in.

"Is she in there," Edgar asks desperately, coming up beside Emmett and me to look into the hole with the lantern I was holding. I can make out a head of blonde hair, and just behind that I can barely see a man shrouded in black.

"Keep digging," Emmett commands, running down the tunnel to find the man holding who I presumed to be Emily; I chase after him, not about to let him get hurt or worse—killed. We sprint after the shadow, following what little we could see of it and I hoped like hell we weren't just following our imaginations. Emmett pauses, pulling out his pistol and making sure I was still behind him before beginning to jog to the next bend, unsure of which direction to take but aware that the shadow's footsteps had stooped as well. A soft thud makes us both turn in the direction it came from, Emmett hesitantly blowing out our light.

Ahead of us we can see the Shadow holding his own lantern, sprinting around another corner with Emmett and me hot on his trail. Emmett shoots, but the bullet barely misses its target, hitting the wall instead. The shadow rushes up a metal ladder that lead to the surface, Emmett going up right behind him, and I behind Emmett. He suddenly begins to fall, knocking me off my perch and against the wall before I plummet to the ground, landing beside him with a grunt. "Are you alright," he asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Oh, I've certainly been better," I answer, wincing as he helps me to stand. "I think my ass and back agree with me; no more running after you when chasing shadowy figures in tunnels—it only ends in pain and getting to hold your hand."

**Later That Night**

I walk into Emmett's room, back in my nightgown and robe. He gives me a small smile before returning his attention on his work. The person that the killer had held up for us tonight wasn't Emily, but a dead man dressed at her with his mouth stitched close. I had convinced the men that there was no use examining him when we could all use a good night's sleep that way we wouldn't miss some important detail. "I'm sorry to bother you, Emmett, but my gown is still a bit damp and I was wondering if I could borrow a clean shirt to sleep in?" It was an innocent enough request that he didn't question it, getting up and walking to his wardrobe.

As soon as his back was to me I take off my robe and pull my gown over my head, shaking my thick hair out of the braid I had it in earlier. I was going to get the Detective tonight if it killed me! When he turns and sees me leaning provocatively against his desk, the shirt he had pulled out drops to the floor. His hazel eyes widen as they take all of me in, mouth slowly hanging open. "I take it I'm up to your standards," I smile, twirling a lock of hair around one of my fingers.

"I-I...we c-can't..." I place my hands on his toned chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt; undoing them one by one, I kiss every inch of flesh that is exposed to me. He lets out a low groan, letting me pull him forward by his now-opened shirt and push him down on to his bed and straddle his waist. I trace meaningless patterns on his skin with my tongue, nipping every now and then to hear his gasps. Slowly I make my way up the column of his neck, along his jaw, and let my lips hover over his—wanting him to initiate the kiss. "Your brother—"

"Is a very sound sleeper," I whisper, looking into his lust-filled eyes and rotating my hips gently against the good-sized bulge in the front of his trousers. That was all it took to make Emmett give in, crushing his lips against mine and flipping us so that I am beneath him. I groan, arching against him, fingers tangled in his thick hair.

He kisses along my jaw to my ear, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. "What is it about you that tempts me so?" I try to flip us again, but he has both of my hands trapped above my head with one of his and he's straddling my hips. "You're like a Siren," he breathes, gently biting my earlobe—making me let out the slightest of whimpers, but he still heard it; I knew that from the satisfied grin that appeared on his face. I grind my hips against his, reminding him of exactly what he wants to do, what _I_ want him to do. His free hand holds me still. "Not just yet, my Siren."

"You're absolutely right." He glances down at me with a bit of shock. "We can't do anything fun while you're still clothed, Detective." My voice holds a sultry quality that surprises even me, having never noticed it before. The moment I feel his grip on my hands relax, I manage to flip us over; now I'm the one straddling him. He groans as I pull his pants and boots off, letting his engorged member out of the pants confinement and into my mouth.

"Y-you don't have...have…to...do... _that_ ," he grunts, trying to pull me up. That's weird, normally men love that; did I do something wrong? He must notice the confused look in my hazel eyes because he draws me up to him, kissing me deeply. "No woman should have to do that to a man." Before I can protest, he has two fingers inside of me and his thumb on the sensitive bud just above my opening. My breath is lost as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot inside me that caused me to see stars.

"Oh, Emm—"I'm cut off by another loud moan, feeling heat wash throughout my body. "Emmett, please!" He was teasing me now, pumping his fingers inside me slower than I thought humanly possible. I close my eyes as ecstasy washes through me, fisting the sheets. Just as I'm about to reach my peak he pulls his hand away and I let out a whimper of disappointment until I open my eyes again and see him crawling over me. He enters me slowly, letting me adjust before beginning the dance I have come to know so well. I raise my hips to meet him thrust for thrust, our tempo picking up the closer we get to finishing. I grip his shoulders, leaving small crescent moons in the tender flesh. I can feel my release rushing towards me, ecstasy crashing into me like a tidal wave. My toes curl and I cry out his name, my muscles clenching around him.

"Sarah," he groans, burying his face in the crook of my neck. We lay beside each other afterwards, my head resting on his chest and his arms circled around me. For the first time since I entered Emmett's office a few days ago, I finally felt safe—I felt secure and loved, _really loved_ by someone other than my elder brother. "Are you alright?" I smile up at him, kissing his chest.

"I'm perfect."

**The lyrics are from the song Love songs (They Kill Me) by Cinema Bizarre**


	10. Chapter 10

_With a sigh you turn away/ with a deepening heart/ no more words to say/you will find that the world has changed forever/the trees are now turning from green to gold/and the sun is now fading/ I wish I could hold you closer_

I hadn't expected the first words out of my mouth this morning to be a threat, but I guess it's better than actually following through with said threat. You see, Emmett had tried to wake me up by shaking my shoulder—it was gentle, but that didn't mean I approved of it and I thought the threat was appropriate at the time. "Remove your hand from my shoulder or lose it," I growl, pulling the comforter over my head. After a few seconds of silence I thought I was safe to go back to sleep, but boy was I wrong! The little shit ripped the covers off the bed and walked out, taking the covers with him. I opened my eyes, happy that he'd closed the curtains so that I wouldn't be blinded by the early morning light. At the foot of the bed was a pair of black trousers, a white shirt that would stop at my thighs, and the boots I wore yesterday down in the tunnels. "Too early for this shit," I grumble while getting dressed and brushing my long hair, wincing whenever the brush caught on a particularly nasty tangle.

When I get downstairs to the parlor I am greeted by Emmett, Edgar, and Cantrell; all dressed and ready to go. Cantrell gives me a small smile that I return, patting him on the shoulder. "So, bodies before breakfast, I presume," I yawn, earning a strained chuckle from my elder brother and a shake of the head from Emmett. "Oh, wipe that sour look off your face, it can't be _that_ bad."

* * *

Looking down at the deceased body, I realize that it _is_ that bad. Emmett sends me a smug look as if to say _I told you so, Sarah_. Edgar picks up the folded note that was lying beside the body, beginning to read it aloud for us all to hear. "Do not bemoan the sailor's life, he was always sure to die anyway. His demise did serve a purpose of leaving you clues. Godspeed, Poe, Emily weakens by the hour—both physically and spiritually; I'm sure you wouldn't want your little sister to share a similar fate." He crumples up the paper and throws it to the ground. "I will kill him no matter what happens. I will kill this disgusting man." I hug myself as the men examine the body closer, scrunching up my nose because of the disturbing odor coming from Maurice; I'm guessing it's Maurice since the note said he was a sailor.

"Why would he dress him up like Miss Hamilton," Cantrell asks curiously, a sympathetic light entering his eyes.

"Because he knew it would hurt my brother," I tell him softly, moving over beside Emmett. He brushes a curly strand of hair behind my ear before bending back over the body. "And he was right, it hurt all of us to know that we were so close; that's why he did it, Cantrell." Emmett crouches down and holds up a hand, gesturing to Cantrell.

"John, bring the light closer; I think I found something." The three men look at something they must deem interesting. "Let's turn him over." I move to help them but Edgar gestures for me to stay where I am. _Gee, way to make me feel needed_ , I think sarcastically, helping them anyway. They should all know how stubborn I am by this point and if they don't, then they're dumber than I gave them credit for. The back of the dress the sailor was wearing is completely open, showing an intricate tattoo. "I think we found our missing sailor."

"The tattoo, it's a sextant," my brother informs us, remembering it from his days at West Point.

"Naturally," I concur, nodding my head even though I had no clue what a sextant was.

"My, uh, my brother went to sea," Cantrell tells us, pointing at the tattoo," A lot of men get these in the Orient." Why anyone would want a tattoo like that was beyond me; it may look nice now, but when you get old you sag, and when you sag your tattoo no longer looks so good. Emmett points at a wound in Maurice's flesh, cut to look like a cross.

"This is fresh, it's still clotted. The killer did this." Cantrell and I share a look, shrug our shoulders, and look back down at the body.

"It's a latitudinal coordinate," my brother says suddenly. "If you mark the angle of the sun at the highest point of the day, it tells you how far you are from the equator; north, south. It's useless without longitude." Emmett looks at him, surprised that my brother knew so much. Edgar shrugs his shoulders. "Even in the Army, they teach basic navigation. I went to West Point. I was expelled, don't worry." Emmett sends an amused glance my way, which I return with one of my own.

"Look here," Emmett says, apparently noticing something none of the rest of us had. "Give me a scalpel." I hand the scalpel to Cantrell, who hands it to Emmett, whose brow furrows. "His tongue has been removed," he tells us, pulling something out of the sailor's mouth. "And this has replaced it." He holds up a pocket watch for all of us to see; it was stained with blood and spit.

"What's it for," Cantrell asks, voicing my thoughts.

A knowing light enters my brother's dark eyes as he seems to realize something vitally important. "Longitude...Sarah, I need a pen and paper." I stick my hand into Cantrell's pocket, taking out a notepad and pen, handing them to my brother. "He's giving us a location." Edgar looks around us for something. "We need maps and we need them now."

* * *

Hamilton looks shocked when my brother, Emmett, Cantrell, and I burst into his house at such an early hour of the morning. "What's happened," he asks, a hopeful note entering his voice.

"We need to use your maps," I tell him, trying to get past Percy. "The sick bastard has given us a location where Emily might be." Growing impatient once more, I step on Percy's foot hard enough to make the man get out of my way and head towards Charles' study where I know the maps are kept. Everyone quickly follows behind me, not wanting to be left behind. Once in the study, Edgar shows Charles the watch.

"That was mine, did the killer leave it?"

"Yeah, inside the dead sailor," Emmett nods. Charles shakes his head, taking a slip of paper from Edgar that had the coordinates written on them. He looks at them for a moment before going over to the far wall to collect the maps that were needed.

"You must forgive me," Emmett says sheepishly," I have no background in navigational techniques."

Resting my head against his arm (I couldn't quite reach his shoulder) I say," Don't worry, you're certainly not the only one who's using the 'guess and hope method' here." Charles scowls at me. He'd once tried to teach me, but the lessons never stuck.

"To plot an exact position, you need three things: a sextant, an accurate chronometer, and a celestial almanac," Charles informs us while he, Cantrell, and Edgar work to get everything set up. "The celestial almanac tells us the exact time at which the sun hits the zenith." My brother nods his head in agreement, understanding everything Charles had explained to a tee. Percy attempts to move an empty glass, but my brother stops him. "Just get another," Charles tells the man, handing Edgar his own glass of brandy. "If you have a watch set to Greenwich Mean Time you can calculate how far east or west of Greenwich, London you are." Edgar works on cleaning the watch face to get the number he needs.

"Twelve. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, I mean, it's twenty-eight."

"Longitude is a measure of time east or west; latitude, distance from the equator, that's north and south; seventeen degrees north." All of us bend over the map to see the location, looking in disbelief at the point the killer has indicated.

"The West Indies," Emmett asks in incredulity. "He couldn't have transported her that far." I bite my lower lip in thought. Perhaps it wasn't the location we needed to focus on, but the name of the exact location.

"Here," Charles says, peering through a magnifying glass and pointing at a location," St. Croix." Where have I heard that before? Edgar straightens up, running out of the room and shouting over his shoulder," Holy Cross!" Of course, the church that Emily had drug me to on numerous occasions!

"Holy Cross Church, that's our parish," Charles says, darting out after Edgar with the rest of us left to follow behind him. We gather as many men as possible before rushing to Charles' stable where we were going to borrow some horses. I stare at the great, black beast in front of me—struggling not to begin hyperventilating. I've never been much of a horse lover, in fact, I was terrified of them. All it took to make me hate the creatures was to be thrown from one when I was eight. Emmett notices my fear and walks over to me, wrapping an arm about my shoulders.

"You can ride with me if you wish," he tells me softly. I nod, hiding my face in his chest, taking that moment to steel my nerves as he lifts me up onto the horse, climbing on behind me. Oh, this is not going to end well, I just know it.

* * *

I practically jump off the horse when we reach the church, rushing up to the double doors and yanking as hard as I can, but the doors don't move an inch. "You've gotta be kidding me," I growl, kicking the doors and ignoring the searing pain in my toe. As Emmett orders his men to look around the church I take off, desperate to find the monster and put this nightmare behind me. "Emily!" I pull a small knife out of the sleeve of my shirt, thinking that I was prepared, but nothing could prepare me for the sight that greeted my eyes when I turn the next corner. A figure shrouded in black leaps from an eave and cutting Cantrell's throat on the way down. I let out a shriek of terror, nearly collapsing as I try to back away. The figure turns in my direction and I can faintly make out a devilish smirk before he runs off into the surrounding woods. I collapse against the wall, one hand covering my mouth as I fall into a state of shock. Even as Cantrell lay dying before me, I could do nothing—memories I tried to keep locked away overwhelming me until soon I am unconscious.

_Red covers everything, the freshly fallen snow no longer looking as pure as it had only moments ago. Lying beside me, Theodore stares unseeingly up at the night sky—not knowing that I was now pinned under the figure, its blade held over my bared throat. The figure lets out a breathy chuckle, tracing a pattern on my cheek and leaving a trail of my fiancé's on my pale skin. I let out a quiet sob, scared that if I moved too much that my neck would be the next to be slit. His face is merely inches from mine, yet I cannot make his face out of the shadows._ _He is Death, come to make me suffer even more than I already have._

**The song is The House of Healing by Liv Tyler from Lord of the Rings: Return of the King.**


	11. Chapter 11

_Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat/It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet/Up where the mountains meet the heavens above/Out where the lightning splits the sea/I could swear that there's someone somewhere/Watching me_

When my eyes open again, the black figure is gone and I am back on a horse, leaning against someone warm. The comforting smell that surrounds me tells me it's Edgar, so I keep my head against his shoulder, tightly gripping the arm about my waist. "We're almost to the _Patriot_ ," he tells me in a soft voice, holding my shivering body closer to him. The nightmare keeps re-playing in my head and I feel a familiar madness beginning to swirl around, a small voice telling me that a small drink would make it all go away.

When we arrive at our destination, Edgar carries me inside, which was a good thing because I didn't trust my legs to support me at the moment. Ivan smiles at us as we walk inside, but his smile vanishes once he notices that state I'm in. Quickly, he takes me from my elder brother and sets me down in a chair, bringing me a bottle of brandy and a cup to pour it in, though I don't even spare the cup a glance as I begin to take long drinks directly from the bottle. Ivan sits across from me, looking worried and uncertain, having never seen me like this. "Are you alright," he asks softly, not wanting to disturb Edgar while he was writing.

"I've been much better." I cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them, silently praying for some relief—or this deepening depression not to consume as it had numerous times before. "Cantrell has been murdered and I just froze, I couldn't do anything except stand there while he bleed out and left his children fatherless." I let out a shuddering breath, not looking up and missing the dark look that flits across Ivan's face. Sighing, I sit up and take another swig of the alcohol, ignoring the burn as it travels down my throat.

"It isn't your fault." I give him a blank look as I drink some more, failing to notice that it was beginning to affect me a lot quicker than was normal. "You're innocent, Sarah, you're still _pure_." I snort at that, shaking my head. I was as far from pure as one could get without committing murder. "Don't shake your head at me when you know it's true, there are other monsters out there that would kill simply because it excites them and you're nothing like that." I raise the bottle to my lips only to have Ivan snatch it away. "I think you've had enough for now." I furrow my eyebrows, stumbling over to my brother and Henry.

* * *

After a few hours' time, Edgar finally holds up the paper, finished with the story. Ivan takes it and reads some aloud. "The final desperate plea. One life offered for another's." Ivan looks up at him with a look of utter sadness. "Oh, Mister Poe, no. You can't." Edgar raises his head from the desk, obviously exhausted from writing for so long and the decision he has made. Ivan looks to me for some assistance, but I just shake my head, one hand resting on my brother's shoulder.

"Set the print," Edgar tells him

"But, sir—"

"Do it!" I wince slightly, blinking until there is no longer two Ivan's standing in front of me.

"You can take it as your fault, Mister Poe."

"Is there someone else you'd like to blame," Edgar asks in a more controlled voice, one of his hands resting on my own.

"The killer, sir."

Henry walks into the room, looking nearly as tired as Edgar and I. "Let me read that," he says, snatching the paper from poor Ivan's hands. "Poe could feel the poison already feeding on his blood as the maggots were soon to do," Henry reads aloud, looking at my brother with surprise. "Jesus, Edgar." Edgar jumps up out of his chair, hands wrapped around Henry's throat in a sudden burst of energy.

"Are you making enough money, Henry?!" I van and I begin trying to pry Edgar off Henry to keep him out of jail.

"Edgar," I shout, grasping his wrists. He continues to shout, grip tightening as Henry's face turns a light shade of red. "Edgar, please, stop this! You'll be no better than the killer if you keep this up!" He finally lets go, making Henry stumble backwards and me to fall onto the hard floor.

"You madman, I'll have you thrown in jail, you damned animal," Henry growls threateningly. Edgar continues trying to get at the other man, but Ivan holds him back and I try to stand up to no avail. Edgar pushes Ivan away from him and looks down at me.

"Just go, I'll be along later," I promise, wanting to take a break from everything and the _Patriot_ was as good as place as any to do just that. Edgar grabs his coat and storms outside, leaving me with Ivan. He helps me up and over to the desk my brother had recently abandoned, once again handing me the near-empty bottle of brandy. I gulp the remains down without thinking; it's only when I find myself nearly asleep that I realize I'd been drugged. "W-wha?" Ivan smiles down at me, brushing some hair off my face. Then everything went black.

* * *

Letting out a nearly silently groan, I open my eyes, the world spinning for a moment before coming into sharp focus. I was tied to a chair with a gag in my mouth to keep me from speaking; infront of me Edgar and Ivan sat talking at a table. "It's time this story comes to an end," Edgar says, pointing his pistol at Ivan.

"Alright," he sighs, holding out his hand expectantly. "Give me the gun." Edgar grips the pistol tighter, shooting me worried glances. "You've come this far, Mister Poe, are you really gonna back out now?" Ivan gets a dark smile on his face. "You know what happens next, you are the one who wrote it, after all. You either pull that trigger and kill me and young Miss Emily, or you give me the gun."

"Both of them will live," Edgar asks through gritted teeth, glaring at the man across from him as if that could kill him.

"That was your solution, right?" No, it was one life for another; it said nothing about two, but I cannot remind my brother of this because of the damn gag. Ivan smirks at me, triumph shining in his eyes as Edgar reluctantly hands him the pistol. "I have to admit, I don't cry easily, but you had me bawling like a baby. I've always had a fancy for poisons," he tells us, holding up a small bottle with clear liquid in it. "That's how I done my dad." What a sick bastard! "The idea of drinking something that will kill you, yet having time to carry on a conversation is, as they say, fraught with dramatic possibilities, right?" He empties the liquid into one of the small glasses with a chuckle. "It has been a profound honor working with you, sir."

"Working with me," Edgar asks in a dry voice.

"Well, I know they're your ideas, and I'm just borrowing. Except for Valdemar's tongue, that was me." That was you, my ass, you pompous shit-head! "Quite the subtle metaphor, I thought."

"Subtle," my brother asks, growing tired and wanting this all to be over with as quickly as possible. "It made no sense at all. Even in the end, I'm confronted by plagiarists, without even the originality to invent themselves. I've concocted you."

"I couldn't agree more." Ivan's voice is no longer happy as it was a moment ago, it now held a darkness that not even Edgar had touched before. "I am you crowning achievement, your masterpiece. In whose world to we exist right now, Edgar: mine or yours? I don't really know the answer. " He pauses for a moment, face nearly hidden by shadows. "It's quite brilliant. Well, go on, sir." He slides the small glass over to Edgar with a sad sigh. "Bottoms up." Edgar picks up the glass and downs it, determined to save Emily and me even if it means adding another tragedy to my life. Ivan picks up the paper Edgar had written earlier and reads it again. "Really good stuff, sir. A poet till the end." He lays the paper down and points down at it. "I suppose this bit is for Miss Hamilton?"

"Where is she," Edgar asks, struggling to stay breathing. Ivan smiles, standing up from the table. "Where is she?"

"I tell you, Mister Poe, I used to _live_ for your stories, just live for them." He begins to put up everything as he talks, voice gaining the happy note again, but somehow it sounds tainted. "When you stopped writing...I guess I went a little nuts." _That's an understatement_ , I think to myself with a snort. "But I kept on believing, even when you closed me out; I still believed in your vision. In a future where people would stand in lines to see the kind of things that people like you and I can see. You sister helped me a lot, telling me some of your poems that you never even published, painting me pictures of the worlds you created. I knew you had one more in you, sir." He leans forward on the table. "No one will ever forget you."

Edgar leans forward slowly, trying to grasp him, but Ivan moves much quicker and walks away from the table over to a coat rack, pulling on his coat like nothing was happening. "Have you ever been to France," he asks randomly," there's a young writer over there, Jules Verne. You heard of him?"

"What? Paris." Edgar is having trouble keeping up, the poison beginning to really take control of him.

"He really reminds me of you, sir."

Edgar hits the desk shouting to the best of his ability," Where is she? You owe me! Where is she?!" Ivan rests his hands on my shoulders, massaging them gently.

"Anything was better than this agony. Anything was more tolerable than this derision. I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer," he quotes, untying my hands from the chair only to tie them together and helping me to stand.

" _The Tell-Tale Heart_." Ivan wraps a large jacket around me that covers my bound hands. A knock resounds on the outside door just as a man calls," Carriage for Mister Reynolds."

"On my way in just a moment," Ivan calls back, taking the gag out of my mouth and forcing more liquid down my throat. "Goodbye, Mister Poe."

"Let Sarah go," Edgar breathes, looking furious." I can feel the tell-tale signs of deep sleep just moments away from comsuming me once again.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of Annabel," he promises, picking me up and carrying me out the door. "My beautiful Annabel Lee."

**Weeks Later**

We climb off the train, myself stumbling slightly as the laudanum has yet to fully leave my system. Ivan has kept me drugged for most of the trip, the doses large enough to keep me in a state between waking and sleeping. He pauses for a moment, taking in the veiw of Paris with a smile. I simply focus on trying to wake up some more, so that I can flee at as soon as possible. "Beautiful, isn't it, Annabel?" i nod, groggily, not wanting him to think that the drug is nearly gone. We follow a man to our carriage and Ivan thanks him before helping me in and getting in himself, not yet noticing the handsome man sitting next to me with a pistol in his hand.

The hammer is pulled back and the pistol is brought up between Ivan's eyes. "Hello, Ivan," Emmett smiles, pulling the trigger.

**The song is Holding Out for a Hero by Jennifer Saunders. Am I the only one who immediately thought Ivan was the bad guy once Edgar rushed back to the paper? That guy just seemed way too happy considering what was goin' on around him! There will be one more chapter after this that will be the epilogue.**


	12. Chapter 12

_Every night in my dreams/I see you, I feel you/That is how I know you go on./Far across the distance/And spaces between us/You have come to show you go on.../You're here/There's nothing I fear/And I know that/My heart will go on/We'll stay/Forever this way/You are safe in my heart/And my heart will go on and on_

I place a half-empty bottle of brandy in front of my brother's tombstone with a small sigh. It's been two years and my brother's death still weighed on me, though I had a few distractions to keep my mind occupied for the most part. Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, pulling me gently against their chest as they rest their chin on top of my head.

"'Twas noontide of summer, and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale through the night," I say softly before I turn to smile up at my husband, kissing him on the lips. A little girl with a head of dark girls races over to me, Carl chasing her.

"Momma, is dat un-tle Edgar's," she asks in her broken English, a curious light shining in her hazen eyes.

"That's right, sweetie," Emmett answers, picking her up. "What d'ya say we go feed the horse an apple or two while momma says bye?" The two-year-old giggles, nodding her head emphatically. I look back down at the grave, rubbing my swelling stomach. "I miss you, elder brother," I manage around a sob," Emily has a little boy now and he looks exactly like you, attitude and all. God, we love you Edgar, see you in the next life." I slowly walk away, but something makes me pause and turn around. The bottle I had just sat down was now on its side and completely empty.

_I love you, little sister._

Shivering, I smile and walk down the path to my family, knowing my brother had heard me.


End file.
